Insidious
by ShadowWolf181
Summary: On a mission in Fortuna, Dante crosses paths with a broken Nero, who had lost everything that had any meaning. Dante decides to take him in out of sympathy, but Vergil doesn't seem to care for the new addition to the family much. Nero x Dante x Vergil.


This is my first DmC fan fic. I hope you like it. For some reason the fact that Nero can't take off his Devil Bringer kind of bothers me (at least I assume he can't take it off or it's super hard to remove), so I decided to make it a removable piece in this fic. He can take it off and wear it whenever he pleases. Everything else remains the same. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the fic. If you have any questions feel free to PM me!

XXX

The city of Fortuna had been inundated with rain for the past two weeks. It was a miracle the streets hadn't been flooded. Within the uncanny darkness of the city's backstreets there sat a boy. He appeared to be in his late teen years, his platinum hair and clothes soaked through. Once upon a time Nero reviled the rain. But as he sat near a mutilated corpse that used to be his mother, her blood sullying his immaculate flesh, he changed his mind, suddenly grateful for the torrential rainfall. The clear droplets washed away any evidence of murder and ultimately eased the crippling pain.

Inhabitants of Fortuna rushed to their destinations while under the shelter of umbrellas and trenchcoats, the splashing of disrupted puddles echoing in Nero's ears. They seemed oblivious or chose to ignore the dead body and the living one sitting next to it, too preoccupied with their own demons to take on anyone else's. Despite what advertisements said, Fortuna was far from being a city of tranquility and hospitality. Residents were kind only to those with affluence and others who happened to be on the same level as them, but shunned those less fortunate.

An orphan, Nero had been lucky to have found a family that would take him in as one of their own. They gave him everything he could've asked for, everything that was absent from his tragic childhood, but most importantly they showed him love. Unlike these people that walked on without so much as a glance, no longer did Nero have a place to call home or a family to return to. In that moment of sudden despair he felt like an orphan again, and picked up a shard of glass from a broken bottle, debating whether to plunge it into his throat. He could die here beside his mother, his essence gradually fading, or he could live on.

But for what purpose?

None of it mattered anymore. He had decided. Nero made sure to align the serrated edge of the glass with the skin of his neck, prepared to make a clean, deep cut straight across. It would be quick and maybe painful. But no pain could be worse than what he is currently feeling.

_Just close your eyes and do it… I'm sorry, Kyrie… For everything._

Nero was ready, but when he went to strike he found he was unable to move. Lifting the lids of his eyes slightly, he noticed someone's hand was roughly clamped around his wrist. Nero looked up and caught the mesmerizing eyes of a strange man.

….

Dante grit his teeth, alone in his pique as he ambled through the dark streets of Fortuna. He hated the rain. It ruined his designer clothes, perfectly styled hair, and upbeat attitude. Even in this lousy weather groups of civilians swarmed the streets to Dante's surprise. Damn that Lady and Trish; it's due to their persistence that he was here for business, instead of pleasure. Not that there was much pleasure to be had in this downpour. This was just a little too much.

There had been dire reports in the media notifying the public about recent demon attacks in neighboring cities. Dante had been resting in his shop, Devil May Cry (or the DMC as some people liked to call it), feet indolently situated on the surface of his favorite mahogany desk while a Playboy magazine concealed his face as he gently snored in his sleep. He had heard about the attacks, even received calls from possible clients, but he had no intention of fighting their battles. As always Dante was picky, solely choosing missions that intrigued him, rejecting those he deemed a waste of time and money. On that note, it was no wonder how Dante managed to swallow so many large debts.

The shop would've been shut down a long time ago if it weren't for Lady and Trish making the payments. Finally fed up with the finicky, no-good bastard, Dante's female companions decided to quit participating in his little game and give him the firm kick in the ass that he needed. And so, despite his resolve, here he was in the almost depressing city of Fortuna, on his way home after completing the assigned mission. Fortuna's inner walls and gates were once again secured.

"Eh?"

As Dante walked by an alley in order to reach his car, he could've sworn he heard a soft whimpering coming from within the alley. He moved a bit closer to the one in question, and sure enough, upon closer inspection, there was an adolescent sitting against the far wall. The first thing Dante noticed was the boy's hair, platinum in color just like his own. The second was the dead body of a woman who appeared to be in her mid-forties, and the coagulated blood that decorated her pretty skin as well as the skin of the kid. She lay in an awkward posture, her innards spilling out from the giant laceration across her torso, her body slightly obscured behind the kid as if attempting to hide its grotesque appearance in shame. It was the work of a demon, no doubt. Probably one of the ones he killed earlier.

_It's unlike demons to leave behind survivors. Why did they allow the kid to live? _

"Hey kid, are you alright?" asked Dante as he walked up to him. But the kid didn't move a muscle, just staring at the blood on his quaking hands as if in a trance. Maybe he was in shock and didn't hear him. Whatever the case, an icy and foreboding sensation suddenly overwhelmed him as he looked upon the wretched child before him. Dante soon figured out the reason when he witnessed the teenager raise a sharp fragment of glass to his neck, eager to end his life at any time. Before he could even think, Dante reacted by rushing forward and almost crushing the boy's wrist in anger.

Eventually, the kid opened his eyes to see who interrupted his attempted suicide. The man appeared to be in his late twenties to his early thirties. Those icy blue irises that stared into Dante's blue ones a shade darker could hypnotize any soul without even trying. Already Dante could sense his anger starting to diminish to a certain extent. He was still pissed however.

"The hell do you think you're doing, kid?! Are you so eager to die in this dump?" he snarled through clenched teeth. "Whatever it is, it's not worth going to Hell for. There was nothing you could do," he said sensibly.

The kid said nothing in reply, surprised that anyone other than Kyrie and Credo actually gave a shit about what happened to him. Dante combed a weary hand through his soaking wet hair, sighed in impatience, and took a seat next to the strange boy.

"What's your name kid?" he enquired, stealing a glance when the boy took too long to respond. Dante chuckled when he realized the kid was shooting him a skeptical look, not that he could blame him.

"Listen, kid, I'm not going to hurt you. Obviously I'm not a cop. I just want to know your name, is all."

The boy waited a minute and then whispered, "Nero. My name's Nero."

"Nero, huh? Has a nice sound to it. So… You wanna tell me about it?" Dante nodded his head toward the woman. Even in death she's a frail beauty, an eerie contrast to the result of the heinous crime.

Nero refused to look in his mother's direction, to see the implanted expression of fear on her angelic face as she was mercilessly slaughtered…, and to see the irrevocable guilt in his eyes. He focused on the stranger and stated in a sorrowful tone, "She was my mother."

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear that kid." What else could he say? Dante cleared his throat uncomfortably. The hell did he get himself into this time around? As if it wasn't difficult enough already in trying to handle his immense debts, he didn't need bodies, dead or living, piled on top, especially ones he had no affiliation with.

"Look, kid… You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready. Just… go home. Cry or do whatever it is you do. Have a nice funeral for your beautiful mother and mourn with your family. I get the feeling they're gonna really need you, more than you think."

Confident he said his final piece and got through to Nero, Dante rose and mentally kicked himself for sitting on the wet ground as he felt the ice cold water seeping through the bottom of his dark red jeans. As he was leaving he thought he heard Nero say something, but the kid was speaking in a low tone. Dante turned back.

"Huh?"

"I have nowhere to go," said Nero, louder this time.

A beat passed as Dante just stood there in the rain, gazing at Nero with a baffled look. He scratched his head sheepishly while mild lines of concern creased his forehead, white eyebrows contorting due to the clashing of contradicting emotions. Why did he tell him that? Did he mean to say that he didn't want to go home, or that he really had no home in which to return? It's possible he lived with an abusive family, or perhaps his mother used to be his sole surviving relative. Jesus Christ on a cracker! Why couldn't he just keep walking, start up the car, and leave this godforsaken place when he had the chance?

_Do it now, you weak-hearted bastard. The car's right there. Just leave the kid and go. He's not your problem._

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. "What do you mean you have nowhere to go? Don't you have other family members?"

"No," said Nero bluntly.

Dante's lips bent into a sardonic grin. "Stop lying, kid. I can tell it's not your forte."

Nero blanched at this. If he told this guy about Kyrie and Credo, then he might force him to go back and that's one thing Nero would definitely not tolerate. But as he said, lying was never his forte, even in childhood. It's a miracle he managed to get away with murder as often as he did, so he must've not been as horrible as everyone alleged or he just had the luck of the Devil.

_In more ways than one._

The truth that he wanted this man to take him along out of desperation was unbearably pathetic to Nero. But he couldn't return to Credo or his precious Kyrie, not after failing to protect their beloved mother. As far as he was concerned, Nero had no family or home. Back at square one again. At least with this stranger he felt he had a chance to start anew in spite of receiving no knowledge about this enigmatic man dressed in red, as well as no guarantee that his festering wounds from the past will completely heal either. However, as Credo used to say, "A chance is better than no chance." Well, here was his opening.

"Can I… Can I come with you?" he asked tentatively.

"W-What?" stammered Dante. He was afraid of that. "Look, kid—"

"My name is Nero. Not "kid." I thought I told already."

Dante smiled a bit. It seemed like some of the kid's spirit was gradually replenishing. Good, maybe he'd get back on his feet quicker than he initially thought.

"Whatever, kid," said Dante casually as he shrugged his shoulders in an idle manner. "Listen, I feel bad about your situation. I do. But there's no way you can come stay with me if that's what you're asking. There's just not enough room for the both of us."

He was lying, of course, for there were four bedrooms on the second floor of Devil May Cry, unless one included the basement that functioned as an entertainment area and possibly another bedroom. Kinda. Dante just didn't want the responsibility of caring for anyone other than himself. Call it selfish, heartless, or whatever one pleased, but it meant less hassle and stress and money spending.

"Please," Nero said. Nothing will stop him, especially lame excuses like there not being enough room. He'll make room then.

"I said no, kid!"

"Look, I'm not one to beg, but I implore you to take me in. I promise I won't be a problem. I'll work, cook, clean—whatever is needed, it'll be done. I'll do my share and I'll even pay half the rent. I promise you won't regret this!"

Nero spoke with the fortitude of a man fighting for justice. After witnessing such resilience, how could Dante continue to refuse him? This kid had nothing left, everything had been stripped from him in an instant. Maybe he would regret it later, but Dante never had the intention of actually abandoning him here. He just wanted to see how far the kid was willing to go to get what he desired. Despite his irritation, mostly at his own actions, Dante had to smile. It seemed like the tide was starting to turn. Hopefully this damaged pup will prove to be useful and entertaining for a change. Life had produced a whole lot of boredom so far, too much for the demon hunter's tastes. Based on the sliver of strong spirit that he saw, Dante had a good feeling he'd be in for one hell of a ride.

"Ah, fine!" he groaned. "Since you're being so persistent… I don't see the harm in having you tag along. Just so you're aware there's going to be a few strict rules. But I'll tell you once we get to my place. For now, I'll say this: Don't wet my car seats. They're relatively new." Almost as an afterthought, he mumbled, "Guess we'll have to find a blanket or something for you to sit on."

There were no words to describe the appreciation and relief Nero felt at that moment. He'd never admit it openly; it was bad enough he had to beg to even get to this point. As they walked towards the entrance to the alley, Nero suddenly remembered and looked back, ordering Dante to stop.

"What is it?"

"My mother. We can't leave her like this."

"We can't take her with us either," said Dante rather reasonably.

"I know that," Nero snapped. "But…" He couldn't finish, not when the pain was coming back with a vengeance.

"Come on, kid." Dante sighed heavily. "We'll cover her body at least. Nobody needs to see that shit."

"Then what?" He sounded dead again, the spirit he once revealed gone.

"Call the cops. I know they don't always come when they're called in this city, but they'll sure as hell come for something as gruesome as a mutilated dead body. Lazy, fucked up bastards."

Nero used a decaying olive-green quilt he found that had been tossed on top of discarded belongings as a covering for his mother. He gazed into her naturally pale grey eyes that turned even paler in death, until they almost appeared white, and gave her a passionate kiss on her cheek as frozen as ice. Fortunately, the rain masked any tears that streamed on the curves of his face. The last thing he needed was for this man, this stranger to see him weep.

"Goodbye Mother."

"Hey, kid… You ready?" Dante's tone had become gentle. He understood pain, more than Nero would ever know.

Sniffing once, Nero stood up, a gleam of resolve in his eyes. He was finally prepared to continue onward.

"Yeah. Let's go."

After sending the Fortuna police the directions to the body, Dante and Nero headed for the car. Nero said farewell to the city he once called home, the people he once considered family, and the memories they all shared. If God's will, he would move on to a place where boundless opportunities and dreams were abundant. A place of promise and hope and love. Not like Fortuna with its dreary atmosphere and discriminating inhabitants.

Nero watched as the scenery quickly altered while sitting on the front passenger seat, a cotton towel soaking up the excess rainwater. Something came to mind. He turned Dante, whose eyes were planted firmly on the road ahead, and stated, "You never told me your name."

Dante laughed, a sweet melody Nero will want to hear more of in the future.

"My bad, kid. The name's Dante. Has a nice sound to it, right?"


End file.
